


Early Sunsets

by destroya_ah_ah



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Blood, Guns, M/M, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 09:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destroya_ah_ah/pseuds/destroya_ah_ah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank and Gerard visit the mall to get Christmas presents for their families and end up getting chased by the zombies who were only previously romoured to exist. Without help, the following 2 months turn dark for the best friends and they do all they can to stop themselves giving in to a last resort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by 'Early Sunsets Over Monroeville' by My Chemical Romance

“Frank, no, stop it.” I pleaded, trying to stop his eyes rolling back by shaking his shoulders wildly enough to be felt on the Richter scale. His eyes focussed for a second but began rolling again, his skin fading as grey as the clouds outside his window. Frank was making these horrifying rasping noises, which I hadn’t heard from him before. It just made me more frantic. “Come on, you can get out of this. Please. You’ve survived so many times before…what makes this time any different? _Please_ …” Slowly, his hand batted at the space beside him and pushed the gun towards my leg. Its touch was like a gunshot itself. I winced. “I can’t.”

 

_2 months earlier…_

 

“We’ll see you later, guys. Don’t kill too many zombies without us!” I called to Mikey and Ray as I jumped into my car, ready to escape the school premises as quickly as possible. Frank climbed in next to me. I always drove him home, along with my brother, Mikey. That’s if Mikey wasn’t having a zombie-gaming marathon at Ray’s house.

“Yeah, we’ll keep some for you. You need the fucking practice!” Mikey shot back at me, mocking my zombie takedown skills, or lack thereof. It always seemed odd to all of us that we joked around about the games, seeing as zombies actually existed in their underground cult or whatever the adults called it, but I guess it was just a sort of defence mechanism to deny real life.

 

“We taking the short route?” Frank asked me while I drove out of the parking lot.

“Yeah, sorry, Frankie. Mom said dinner would be early.” We’d normally take the relatively scenic route in order to chat on the way to Frank’s house, as best friends would, but that day was different.

“Ah, no worries. I’ll be seeing you tomorrow anyways.” He smiled. That’s one of those things you can sense about Frank, even if you’re not looking – his smile.

 

Four minutes later and I was parked outside Frank’s house.

“Eleven-thirty?” He asked, passenger door slightly open, letting a gush of icy, December air blast in.

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.” I replied. The Christmas holiday was heading our way and we were going to the mall together that Saturday to buy presents for our families.

 

The evening passed uneventfully, besides Mikey arriving home in a mood because Ray got a higher kill-streak than he did, as usual. The next day, however, didn’t turn out quite as expected.


	2. Chapter 2

Waking bright and breezy, for once, I got ready that Saturday morning and drove to pick Frank up from his house. I’d shoved on a hoodie and some jeans, as I knew Frank would too, and sure enough he bounced in his usual bubbly fashion out to my car with pretty much the same clothes on. The only difference was his skeleton gloves, which he wore during any day that was even vaguely cold. I’d bought the gloves for him 2 years before and he had been emotionally attached to them ever since. Hurrying in, he greeted me and made sure his seatbelt was ok.

“Ready?” He asked. I nodded and began to drive while conversation turned to what we were buying and for whom.

 

We weren’t exactly being productive during the first half of our shopping trip, but we did get a few presents checked off the list, despite our incredible ability to become children in the toyshops. After lunch was when the day took and unexpected turn for the worse. We’d just finished our annual mall junk-lunch and I was chucking my empty soda cup into the bin. Frank grabbed my elbow.

“Ow! Frank, that really hurts.” I told him, thinking he’d probably be joking around, not realising he was hurting me. Then I saw the dazed expression of fear freezing his face. “…What?”

“… _Look_.” His grip on my arm trembled. I turned around and caught a glimpse of what seemed to be a group of five teenagers, older than us, with white-grey pupils. They all sat around one of the group tables in the fast food restaurant but they were glaring at us as though we should be leaving _very_ soon. Zooming my attention around to Frank again, I stared back at him with the same fearful daze. Whispering so that only he could hear, I asked the question that would confirm my nightmarish thoughts.

“Zombies?” Even my whispering voice wavered. Frank nodded ever so slightly. Keeping my quiet voice on, I drew up a quick plan. “Okay, we’re gonna keep walking, but we’ll pick up the pace if we’re being followed. We’re going right back to the car, alright?” He nodded again and we did as I said, Frank checking his gloves were still in the bag he’d left them in so that he could eat.

 

Walking quickly was a rare event in my book, so the burn in my calves and the backs of my thighs started up quickly. Frank seemed to be feeling the same, his already weakened lungs breathing heavily. I dared to glance over my shoulder.

“They’re hot on our trail, Frankie.” I worried out loud.

“No one ever told us they were this fast.” He hissed back at me. “All the games lie! They’re supposed to drag their feet and groan and act all slow.”

“Well, this isn’t a game anymore, so we’re gonna have to deal with it.”

“What are we supposed to do?” The hurry of our steps increased and it seemed as though the zombies already knew that we’d caught on.

“They know we’ve seen them…” Frank took a second to glance at me confusedly instead of looking where he was going. “We have to run.”

 

Grabbing Frank’s hand so that either of us could catch up with the other if we fell behind, I began to leg it in the direction of the multi-story. We reached the stairwell. Entering, I tried to remember which floor I’d parked on, heaving for oxygen.

“…Five.” Frank huffed. I nodded and went for his hand again. By the third floor, I could hear the zombies stampeding up after us. Each step seemed to make our speed decrease and I was running out of energy. My knees creaked. My legs shook with each lingering incline.

 

Frank looked up at the sign to which floor we were on. _Fourth floor_.

“One more.” He grunted, new energy sprouting and spurring me on too. We began running again but I was still looking back at Frank. The zombies were catching up and I saw them round the corner behind us. They didn’t look like teenagers anymore. It was as though their former appearance had been torn off like a morbid mask. Their skin had gone all grey and sunken, eyes rabid and bloodshot as well as grey, shadows around the lids. Each groaning, creaking mouth was a dark black-red blood colour inside. Their teeth were stained with it.

“ _Shit_!” I wailed, running faster than I ever had before, Frank in tow. He tripped up the last step and kicked at a wrinkled, grabbing hand belonging to the creatures crawling up after us.

 

I pulled Frank back to his feet again and wrenched the door open, welcoming the energy which came with the icy gush that rushed in at us. I thought we were safe. Frank made a scared whimper, looking back to see his bags caught in the door.

“Drop them, Frank.” I urged, tugging his arm.

“I can’t –” He gasped. “They’re pushing the door on my – _ah_! – wrist.” He gritted his teeth against whatever excruciating pain he was in.

“Fucking _stop_!” I roared, marching over to the door and kicking it open into one of the zombie’s faces. Frank was able to drop the shopping bags that time and I started to run, only to be snapped back again like a bungee cord.

 

They’d grabbed Frank’s arm. Irrational thoughts crossed my mind, like why we were never prepared for this sort of situation; why we’d never been taught to fight. I heard a crunch. Frank screamed.

“Motherfucker.” Frank growled. He withdrew his arm, anger rising, and kicked the closest zombie square in the face. They all seemed to be retreating. After I stared them down a while longer, they skulked away, dragging their knocked-out ally back down the stairs with them.

 

Frank doubled over and retched violently at the ground. Crawling forward, he reached out to the bags he’d dropped.

“Fuck the shopping, Frank. We could have _died_.” I heaved the words out, trying to catch my breath.

“No… My– gloves.” He coughed. Knowing he wouldn’t live without them, I hurried over and picked them up cautiously, handing them to him once he’d stood back up.

“Come on, we’re going home whether we’ve got presents or not.” I didn’t remember dropping any bags, or remember any of the bags breaking, but all that was left in my hand were two snapped handles of a carrier bag. Leading the way back to the car, I slumped forwards against the driver window for a second. “That was so scary, Frank.” I sobbed, letting go of adrenaline tears. Turning around to hug him, I felt him pull away sharply. “Wh– what’s wrong?”

 

He looked down, but I could see that he was biting his lip against pain. He brought his left hand up to show it to me and his sobbing, trembling breaths echoed through the tunnels of cars around us. His hand was smeared with black-red zombie blood.

“It bit you.” I stated, words hollow and unbelieving. The bite mark was clear. Its slice of a semicircle sat, made of sunken teeth-craters, at the side of Frank’s palm, between his pinky knuckle and his bruised wrist. “It fucking _bit_ you!” I shouted, slamming a fist down on the car roof and setting the alarm off. “Shit, shut up.” I panicked, fumbling shakily for my keys and resetting it.

 

My gaze rested back at Frank’s hand. The back of it had the same punctures.

“…Are you okay?” I asked quietly.

“Does it fucking look okay, Gerard?” Frank snapped.

“No, I mean, do you feel okay? Like, has it done anything?”

“Oh.” Frank wiped over his face with the back of his clean hand, still holding his beloved gloves. “I don’t feel any different. Surely it would have done something to me by now, if my blood was pumping so fast. Maybe one bite isn’t enough.” He shrugged.

“Let’s hope so.” Sighing in exhaustion, I paced around to the boot of my car and rummaged around for something to clean Frank’s hand up with. Luckily, I found a first aid kit underneath all the useless junk.

 

Sitting gladly in our seats, I warned Frank that the antiseptic wipes I was about to use would probably sting. They did. He hissed inwards through his teeth but I had a firm enough grip on the healthy part of his hand that he couldn’t pull away. Wrapping a bandage around his hand was the best thing I could think of.

“I’ve gotta hide this…” He breathed deeply, trying to calm down. His head shot back up as though a light bulb had appeared over it. “Gloves.” He stated, satisfied with they way they covered up the thickness of the bandage when he put them on.

 

Simply sitting in the car for a while, we tried to get rid of the shakes. I asked Frank if he was okay to go back home. He didn’t look at me; he just nodded his head silently and held his injured hand with his normal one, bundled in his lap. The drive was silent and I could tell that we were both replaying the nightmare of events which left us without confidence to speak, nevermind our presents. Frank leaned over the gear-stick to give me a hug before getting out of the car when we’d reached his house.

 

Driving home in yet more silence, I trudged down to my bedroom in the basement and slumped onto my bed.

“No.” I mumbled, unable to believe anything that had happened in the last couple of hours. Mikey distracted me from the flashing memories by knocking on my door.

“Any presents that I’m not allowed to see?” He called.

“No, you’re safe.” He opened my door and faltered at the sight of me, spread out with my hands over my face.

“Uh, you okay, Gee?” He asked, standing awkwardly at the side of my bed, one arm straight and the other hand holding his elbow.

“Not really.” I sat up, crossed my legs and hunched forward. “We– we were chased, Mikey… _Zombies_.” I whispered the word, shivers stinging my spine with the utterance.

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.” I snapped. Mikey sat on the edge of my bed. “Nothing happened to me. Frank’s hand got bitten but nothing’s happened to him.”

“Shit, Gerard. That must’ve been horrible.” I didn’t answer. “I guess you’re better at fighting them off than I give you credit for.” He laughed, trying to cheer his big brother up and I batted his arm. Mikey stayed with me for a while, and we ate dinner in the kitchen together with mom, but I was left to myself in the evening…which was a bad idea.


	3. Chapter 3

After trying to build the courage to shut my eyes for a couple of hours and then enduring a bout of restless sleep, I was woken in the eerie gloom of my bedroom. My phone was vibrating, the screen blinding me as I pulled it from underneath my pillow. _Frank_.

“Hi, Frank.” I answered it croakily, rubbing my eyes. My arm shot right back under the covers, escaping from the biting cold.

“Gerard, help me.” Frank replied, quiet at the other end. I heard him sniff. He was either cold, or he was crying.

“What’s up?”

“I don’t– I… I’m scared.” His shivering breaths were audible over the line. “What if the bite is just a marker and they’re coming to get me?”

 

I’d never thought of that but it triggered endless thoughts of _what if_ in my head.

“I can’t sleep either, Frankie. I told Mikey what happened.” All I wanted was for someone to be with me who could understand. It seemed Frank needed that too. “Want me to come over?”

“Please.”

“Ok, ten minutes. Put some music on or something so the wait isn’t so long.”

“Hurry.” Frank pleaded, haunted voice giving me a shiver before he hung up.

 

Hurrying, as asked, I shoved some clothes and an extra blanket into a rucksack. I threw on my hoodie, not troubling myself with changing out of my t-shirt and pyjama pants, and slipped on my most tattered pair of converse without tying the laces. Walking up to Mikey’s room, I told him to tell mom I was staying at Frank’s.

 

I was cautious outside but my car felt like a safe place, so driving wasn’t so bad. It was pretty icy on the roads though. I just hoped Frank didn’t go insane before I got there. I found the first aid kit from earlier before I left the safety of my car once again, making sure everything was zipped up in the rucksack. Knowing there was a key under the doormat, I let myself in and rushed to Frank’s room where I found him hugging his knees and frantically rocking back and forth to the beat being pumped into his ears. He tore the earphones out once he saw me, forgetting the music completely. As soon as I was close enough, he reached his arms out to me.

“It’s okay, Frankie.” I comforted him. Sitting next to him on his bed, I hugged him for a while, trying to stop his trembling.

 

We didn’t say anything for a significant amount of time and I didn’t know how long it had been before I realised that it wasn’t just tears on my shoulder. Frank’s forehead was all sweaty and I was no longer shivering from the cold.

“Frank, you’re boiling.” I told him, half-complaining. Rummaging in my rucksack, I found the blanket to wrap around myself and ventured off to the bathroom to get Frank a cold flannel. He wiped the cloth over his face and then held it to his forehead when I returned, and I thought it might be a good idea to check the bandage on his hand.

 

Frank began to speak but had to clear his throat before continuing.

“I took it off earlier and it was oozing this icky green shit.” He looked worried and disgusted all at once. “This is a different bandage to the first one.”

“At least that means your body was trying to get rid of whatever’s in a zombie bite.” I shrugged, trying my utmost to see the good side and keep Frank in a relatively good mood. “It seems to have stopped now.” I stated after inspecting his ooze-free hand. Cleaning all the open teeth-craters for him once again, I found more bandages from the first aid kit and bound Frank’s hand like I had before.

“Thanks, Gee. My hand’s stopped throbbing now, I think.”

“Good.” I smiled, relieved as I cleared everything back into my rucksack.

 

We just sat there for a while after that, shoulder to shoulder on Frank’s duvet, both hugging our knees. Frank wasn’t cooling off so easily. I, on the other hand, had taken my converse off and was starting to feel my feet ice over. We worried out loud to each other, not really resolving any of our queries. We didn’t know if the zombies would find us again, or do anything else to Frank. We didn’t know how long Frank’s fever would last, and if it was a bad sign or not. We couldn’t work out how to explain the bite scar-to-be on Frank’s hand, or whether we should just tell the truth about it. We didn’t know much at all.

 

Eventually unable to bear the shivers any longer, I climbed under the covers. I was glad that my feet eventually seemed to be thawing.

“I’m stealing this though, ok?” Frank asked, tugging at the blanket I’d brought with me.

“Fair deal.” I shrugged. Frank was too warm to withstand being under the duvet, so he lay next to me between the cover and the blanket. He sighed and curled up, facing me. I took one last blinding look at my phone – _3:43am_ – and pushed it underneath the pillow. “I hope everything’s okay, Frankie.” I told him, turning to him but no longer able to find his face in the dark.

“Me too.” He replied, hand finding my shoulder for a brief moment. “Thanks for coming over though; I think I’ll be able to sleep now.”

“It’s okay.” I smiled, even though he probably couldn’t see me either.

“Night.” We both said it quietly at the same time and I could feel my exhausted eyes beginning to droop already.


	4. Chapter 4

Waking, I realised Frank’s fever must have subsided. He’d somehow managed to crawl under the cover and settle right next to me without me noticing. I was facing the ceiling when I awoke, clearing the foggy sleep from my eyes, and Frank was still asleep, healthy hand grasping my elbow lightly, face smooshed against my shoulder. His fingers twitched and I watched him return to reality.

“M’sorry.” He croaked, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Don’t worry, Frank.” I chuckled. “You needed me. I didn’t expect anything less than you wanting something to hold onto so you could feel safe enough to sleep.”

 

That Sunday continued to be a frustrating day. Frank and I both told our parents of the zombie chase, and I gave Mikey permission to fill Ray in on the truth of the events. Then, sitting at home in the evening, Ray and Mikey invaded my room with a barrage of questions. I didn’t particularly mind answering to begin with, but the memories and flashing faces were enough to deal with, even when they didn’t have to be described with ‘ _all the gory details_ ’ as specified by the intruding pair.

 

I also realised that neither Frank’s nor my parents seemed too bothered with how we were after almost dying. Maybe they thought the ‘ _underground zombie cult_ ’ was just a myth…but we knew all too well that zombies existed. Regardless of injury, the psychological factors were enough to make me feel like I’d been bitten too. I couldn’t go into a room without a light on; I couldn’t leave doors open; I couldn’t walk up any stairs without feeling like there was something behind me. Sunday was so much of a nightmare that I dreaded how much worse it could get when I slept and the real nightmares could begin.

 

Rushing into bed with a hoodie on so as not to get cold, I turned my bedside lamp on and let my eyes get carried away with darting about the room in search of any threat. My phone vibrated in my hand and I almost yelped.

“Frank, you scared the shit outta me.” I answered the call.

“Well, hello to you too.” He replied; I could hear his eyes rolling.

“Sorry, I’m really nervy.” I apologised. “Your hand any better?”

“It’s okay, I guess. It’s just kinda scabby and horrible now.” Frank sighed. “I think my gloves will come in useful tomorrow.”

 

Our phone call lasted at least and hour and a half. We simply couldn’t bear to be alone with the silence and the darkness of our own rooms, with the threat of our memories creeping up on us. After I’d lost track of time, there was a pause on Frank’s end.

“Frank?” Listening carefully, I could hear him breathing softly and decided that me must’ve fallen asleep while I was talking. I didn’t mind; at least he hadn’t been filled with anxiety, which would have most definitely induced nightmares. “Night, Frankie.” I said pointlessly before I hung up. Pulling the duvet up closer to my face to make me feel safer, I took a few last desperate glances around my room before switching the lamp off and attempting something close to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Feeling groggy on Monday morning, I was starting to question whether it was me that got bitten and not Frank. I certainly felt like the walking dead. I trudged around for a while, not really getting anywhere near ready for school, and I ended up in a huge rush to leave the house on time. Making my way down the driveway to where Mikey was waiting by my car, I had trouble keeping balance on the slippery, glittery sidewalk. Winter was a death trap with a pretty face.

 

Frank was getting a lift to school with Ray that morning, so we met them in the parking lot, Frank looking rather apprehensive.

“At least you’ve got a good excuse for your gloves now.” Ray batted Frank’s shoulder lightly, trying to cheer him up. Frank just shrugged, trying hard to smile but ending up just looking really tired.

 

We were shown the scabs at lunchtime, away from prying eyes. Frank’s hand looked relatively clean before, but it looked mangled and horrible with all the scabs creating a new, unwanted landscape across the bite marks. Frank seemed to be satisfied that he was finally getting away with wearing his gloves in lessons though. I didn’t know what he would have done without them.

 

The next couple of days were similar too, Frank’s hand slowly losing the scabs. What was left as a result turned out to be white, shiny-smooth teeth scars, which Frank could pass as an animal bite. Not too many people were interested, thankfully, so Frank was weaned from wearing his gloves during lesson time and everything seemed like it was going back to normal. Even our nightly phone calls were getting shorter and I wasn’t so jumpy and paranoid.

 

Thursday brought no such luck. Sitting in chemistry, my only class with Frank, was seeming to be running smoothly until we were halfway through the practical. I’d been turned away from him for a brief moment, but when my attention returned, Frank had ripped the goggles from his face, uttered something vaguely sounding like ‘ _puke_ ’, and started sprinting out of the classroom. Silence fell as the rest of the class stood staring at me and I was left with a confused expression and a redundant test tube in my hand.

 

The teacher let me go and check on Frank after he’d been gone a few minutes and I found him throwing up violently in the toilets. I held the cubicle door open and managed to get him to stand up, but he just wouldn’t stop heaving and ended up on the floor, leaning over the toilet again.

“This is real bad, Gerard.” He rasped through his clogged throat. I got him a handful of paper towels to clean his mouth with.

“I don’t know what to do, Frankie.” I told him honestly. “Is it definitely from the bite or are you just getting sick?”

“I think it feels the same.” Frank finally stood back up again and flushed the towels away. “Like, when I got that fever I felt all frantic and scared and alert and maybe a bit angry. It was the same just then, so I guess it’s the bite.” He hugged me with a huff and we went back to class, not saying much but knowing we were both extremely worried.

 

I was waiting for Frank after class. The teacher had asked him to stay behind and I could hear him getting shouted at on the other side of the door. She thought Frank had tried drinking what we’d made during the practical; it wouldn’t be the first time.

“I’m probably just getting sick again!” He fought. “You know how easy I get sick. I didn’t drink anything, I promise.” By the tone of his voice I could tell he was pulling the puppy-dog eyes trick. The teacher finally excused Frank and he slumped out of the door right onto me.

“I need to go home.” He mumbled into my shoulder. That’s exactly where we went. It was the end of the day anyway, so no questions were asked when Frank made it home. I had hoped Frank’s vomiting was his body trying to get rid of the last remnants of whatever was in the zombie bite…


	6. Chapter 6

The next time Frank called was Saturday night. I’d hardly said hello when he started speaking fast enough to make my head spin.

“Gee, you would not believe how many fans I’ve managed to find around the house. Seriously it’s so warm in here. Are you warm? I’m boiling! I think I have a fever again. I’m sitting in my room in hardly anything but I’m still too hot, even with all the fans on. H– ”

“Frank, calm down.” I managed to cut in. “Is there anything I can do?”

“I don’t know. You’ll probably freeze to death if you come over.”

“Okay, well, just get loads of wet towels or something. Call me if it gets any worse, alright?”

“Got it.” Frank replied, breathing out heavily like he was trying to dispel the heat. “I’ve gotta go mummify myself in towels then. Night, Gerard.”

“Night.” I said back before letting my phone fall onto my bed as worry overwhelmed me. Staring at the clock, it took me three minutes to register the time – _11:36pm_. I shrunk into my bed, feeling colder and more alone than ever, and a sense of certainty that Frank was worse than he was saying washed over me.

 

Two weeks later, Christmas had passed and Frank had continued to get fevers throughout the holiday, as well as getting new dizzy spells. What worried me more than anything was that nobody else seemed to notice. Frank would call and say that his mother had told him to sleep on it and that he’d be fine in the morning. He would need to leave urgently to go and cool down when we were hanging out with Mikey and Ray, but neither of them seemed bothered that Frank was burning up or getting dizzy. He would be in need of help and I was the only one who seemed to care.

 

The new year brought new fears. Another weekend arrived without Frank getting any better and I got called on the Sunday morning.

“You okay, Frankie?” My question had become my routine way of answering the phone.

“Um…” Frank croaked. “I think… Gerard, I think I’ve done something bad.”

“How bad?” My voice shook.

“Really bad. Like, going out in the middle of the night and almost killing someone.”

“ _What_?” I raised my voice in disbelief.

“Just come over; I need to talk to you.” He pleaded. Reluctantly, I told Mikey where I was going and made my way to my car, approaching Frank’s house with new caution.

 

Walking into Frank’s room in silence, I sat next to him on the end of his bed where he was staring at his knees. It was all I could do to hug him.

“…It was the bite, wasn’t it?” I whispered. He nodded against my shoulder.

“I could deal with the fever and all the dizzy moments, but it was different last night; I couldn’t control myself.” Frank pulled away from me, talking quietly like he was trying to keep a firm grasp on what control he had right then. “I was about to call you so you could help me. I knew something was different…but my eyes went all blurry and I just felt really angry inside.” I didn’t speak; Frank was just about holding it together, so I didn’t want to knock his concentration. “All I remember is being unable to talk properly, and I think I chased someone. I remember having someone pinned underneath me but I don’t know if I caught them or if I fell. The next thing I know, I’m in the middle of a dark street, coming back to my senses and trying to find my way back home.”

 

He turned back to hug me again.

“I was… I was scared.” Frank sobbed. “I don’t want that to happen again. What if I kill someone? All I could feel was the need to bite and spill blood.”

“I wish I knew how to help, Frank.” I really did.

“Maybe it wouldn’t have felt so bad if I wasn’t a fucking vegetarian.” He shrugged, scarce smile fading quickly.

“I’m sure it’s terrifying whether you eat meat or not.” I chuckled, trying to keep Frank at least from losing his sense of humour.

 

Frank stood up with a sigh and paced over to his bedroom window, staring out at the looming January clouds. He put his hand to his head for a second, looking faint.

“Ugh, dizzy.” He mumbled, grabbing onto the windowsill for balance.

“Okay?” I asked, standing so I could help if he needed me. Frank didn’t answer for a moment. He stood, shuddering, almost writhing.

“It’s happening again, Gerard. Stop me.” His voice had turned strange and crackly like a record. “ _Help_!” He cried.

 

I didn’t know what to do. Frank’s expression went blank and his voice creaked at me, not human anymore. I was perplexed as to why he didn’t look like the other zombies. The thought didn’t last long. Frank was heading towards me. Ducking out of the way, I found one of his t-shirts from the pile in the corner of his room and tried to figure out a way to use it. The thought crossed my mind that I should have picked up something heavier, but I didn’t want to hurt my best friend.

 

Trundling over to me again, Frank creaked and I ducked out of the way once more. I found myself behind him and seized my chance to use the shirt: I held it bunched at either end and tied it quickly over Frank’s eyes to serve as a blindfold. He clawed at it for a second or two, confused. Then he did the strangest thing. Frank sat down. Without sight, Frank was deemed useless. I wondered if it would work on full-zombies. A terrible guilt made my stomach turn as I realised I’d just classified Frank as part-zombie. I shouldn’t have done it; it was like admitting defeat.

 

Not sure if Frank had gone back to normal, I crouched by his side.

“Frank?” I touched his shoulder. The contact alerted him to my presence and he grabbed my wrist before I could think. “ _Ow_!” He’d shoved my hoodie sleeve up past my elbow and clawed stinging lines down my entire forearm. Shoving his hands away from me, I fell backwards and out of his range.

 

Thinking quickly again, I grabbed a blanket and considered wrapping it tightly around Frank so that he couldn’t move his arms. As I turned, however, his hands were untying the blindfold.

“No!” I commanded, rushing over to bat his hands away and tie a new knot…but finally his voice had returned.

“Gerard, it’s okay. Stop it.” He complained.

“Oh, sorry.” I let go and Frank undid the remainder of the blindfold.

 

He stood up with my help and he sat back on his bed once again, hugging his knees. I’d hardly ever seen Frank cry, let alone that much. He sobbed for what seemed like an age before he spoke again.

“Why couldn’t I just turn straight into a zombie and be done with it? Why do I have to put up with this torment of not knowing if I’ll be okay?” He looked at me. Something inside me broke a little as I realised just how helpless and lost Frank looked.

“Don’t talk like that.” I told him quietly, squeezing his shoulder.

 

After I managed to calm him down to a sensible enough level to think clearly, we talked for the rest of the day about strategies on how Frank could keep control on his next zombie-turn. It was all we could do to make theories and imagine how things would work. We’d only know if any of the plans were successful when Frank next lost control.


	7. Chapter 7

Almost two weeks later, we’d all returned to school and the weather had decided to skimp on the snow and just give us disgusting drizzle-rain instead. Frank hadn’t turned since that morning in his room…until that Wednesday night. Meeting him at lunchtime the next day, I dreaded to hear what he’d done.

 

By the sight of him, Frank looked like he’d been beaten up. I was walking over to him, stomach turning all the way, and found him pushing his food around his dinner tray aimlessly.

“Hey, what happened?” I asked softly, sitting down next to him and trying not to attract attention.

“Well, I didn’t make it out the house, so I didn’t hurt anyone besides myself.” Frank shrugged, leaning his elbow on the table so as to let his head fall into his hand.

“Did any of our plans work?”

“No, I don’t think so. It’s hard to remember, so I guess not anyways.” He sighed and my heart sank. “I had the idea a few days ago of putting a lock on my door. I’m pretty sure that worked because I didn’t even make it out of my room. I’m pretty sure I hit my face off the door handle though.” He mumbled, running a finger across an angry bruise on his cheekbone.

 

I put my arm around Frank’s shoulders. I didn’t really know what else to do.

“It…it’ll get better if we keep focussing on the plans, okay?” I couldn’t tell him it would be okay without some kind of backup.

“My ribs hurt.” He complained, pushing his tray out of the way and hunching forward to lean his head on the table. The rise and fall of his back became jumpy from sobbing. Comforting Frank wasn’t all that easy, but at least I tried when no one else seemed to even notice.

 

Over the next two weeks, Frank called me three times in the middle of the night. Each time was to tell me he was about to turn, and then another call to tell me he was back to normal. Every call left me biting my already chewed-up nails.

 

Every day following a turn, I’d see Frank in a worse state than ever before. New bruises, new grazes, new pain would just add to all those that had been caused by previous turns. I could see Frank breaking down slowly and we were both helpless. He’d told me how much his control had decreased when he turned. He said that sometimes he’d spend the whole time running from wall to wall in his room, crashing purposefully into the unforgiving bricks and end up writhing on the floor. To put it with the least exaggeration, it broke my heart. Any thoughts about Frank would make my chest hurt and all I wanted was for him to get better.


	8. Chapter 8

Things took a turn for the worse on the next Tuesday at lunchtime. I was sitting with Frank again, unsure of where Mikey or Ray were, and trying to tell him things were going to be okay. The trouble was that I couldn’t see things getting any better. I just saw Frank slowly being dragged away, replaced by a bundle of negative feelings in a body that was almost dead.

“I’m so tired, Gee. I’m tired all the time and I can’t concentrate. It’s so easy just to lose control.”

“Maybe you’d feel better if you ate something?” I suggested, glancing at his tray of food. He hadn’t eaten lunch for at least the last three school days.

“What’s the point if I can’t taste it anymore?” He sighed, letting his face fall into his hands for a moment. “It’s like my brain’s shutting down. My hearing’s all fuzzy, I can’t taste much, I can’t see to the front of the class if I sit at the back.” Frank looked like he’d be crying if he had any energy left. He slumped into a hug.

“You’re hardly there anymore, Frankie.” I said, arms around him feeling nothing but ribs and spine.

“I can’t do this anymore.” He whispered, voice shaking even at that quiet level.

“No, Frank. Don’t give up. You have to promise me that you won’t give up.” I pleaded, pushing him back so he’d look me in the eye.

 

Every day following that, Frank called me before he went to sleep, promising each time that he wasn’t giving up. By the weekend, he hadn’t had another turn and I hoped with every fibre of my being that Frank was at his worst and about to start getting better again. A call at 7:26pm confirmed my worst fear.

“Gerard, get here right now. This is the worst I’ve ever felt. I’m about to turn but there’s no control at all. No one else is home.” He choked and coughed for a second. “Help. I think I’m turning properly.”

“On my way.” That was all I said before I hung up and rushed around to find shoes and keys. Almost running into Mikey on my way out the door, all I said was “Frank” and he got out my path.

 

I jumped into my car, the air not so biting as when this disaster began, and broke the speed limit all the way to Frank’s house. My hands shook on every door handle and Frank greeted me with “Lock”, telling me to flick the lock on his door. He was trying to speak to me, but no words came out. Helpless, he pointed to his eyes. They’d changed. His eyes had changed colour, bearing the white-grey pupils we were running from just two months before.

 

Frank caught his voice again.

“I’m scared.” He whimpered, gripping my shoulders with shaky hands. “Legs are going.” He warned, falling forward against me. I caught him under his arms and tried to move his emaciated frame without breaking him. The best thing I could think of was just to sit him on his bed. “I’m not coming back this time, Gee. I know it.” Frank’s voice crackled again and he lapsed into a coughing fit. He fell back when the coughing subsided.

 

Sitting worriedly next to his weak and shaking body, I stared, powerless, with tears blurring everything and crawling down my cheeks.

“Got this a couple days ago.” Frank hissed, barely able to speak. A shaky hand ventured under his pillow and dragged out a gun, like a pistol from my frame of reference.

“Frank, what the _fuck_?” I exploded. “Where did you even get that? What were you thinking?”

“If I’m not coming back, if I’ll never be human again, then I don’t wanna scare, hurt, _kill_ anyone.” Frank grasped his throat, voice turning into creaks and coming back again. “I thought I could do it, but I can’t while I’m still me. I said I’d never give up, so I’m not…but when I’m not human anymore, that’s it.”

“Stop talking, Frank. Just stop. This is stupid.” My head was spinning, unable to comprehend how much Frank’s situation had escalated.

“I won’t have the mind to do it when I’ve turned, Gerard.”

“No…”

“Please, kill me.” Frank grabbed my wrist and his eyes pleaded more than his voice already had.

 

Creaking returned, accompanied by low growling in Frank’s chest. He clutched at his heart, tears squeezing out from his eyes, closed in pain. Lifting his head, he tapped the gun and pointed to himself, creaking loudly in frustration that he couldn’t give me a command.

“No, Frankie!” I shouted, a hand either side of my head to stop it spinning at such a frightening rate. I shook his shoulders and his skin faded to grey. I pleaded and pleaded for him to stop, to come back to me, to get better. “I can’t do that to you…” I wept. In one last burst of strength, Frank coughed and grabbed my shoulders.

“I won’t be me.” He croaked desperately. Eyes rolling, he fell back again.

 

Frank started rasping and his breathing lost its rhythm.

“I can’t…” I cried. My heart felt like it was trying to catch up with everything. It raced and it hurt. Frank was being taken away again and his hand reached for the gun, batting it to my leg. Its touch stung. Frank took a deep breath, wanting to speak again. He regained grip on my shoulders, unblinking. A creak escaped before his voice.

“I love you.” Frank told me, eyes rolling again. He coughed violently, hand clutching his chest again as dark blood filled his mouth.

“ _No_! Frank don’t do this to me. _Come back_!”

 

The blood went away but it still coated his teeth. His eyes were still open, still looking around without registering that I was there. Risking getting hurt, I checked the pulse in his neck: _gone_. Frank’s heart wasn’t beating anymore but he still looked alive, if rather skinny and sunken and grey.

“No…” I sobbed. “ _No_!” It turned into a roar, my loss turning to rage. Picking up the gun in my trembling hands, I figured I should flick the little switch on the back if I had any intention of going through with the insane plan. I’d seen enough movies to know that much. Frank’s dead hands no longer trembled and they started grabbing and clawing. He’d start getting dangerous if I didn’t do it soon.

 

Crawling a fraction closer, I held my hand over Frank’s eyes, not wanting him to see me while I moved the gun under his chin. His hands searched around without the aid of sight but soon found my back to start clawing at.

“I’m so sorry, Frank. I am _so_ sorry.” I whispered, even though I knew it wasn’t him anymore. My hand on the gun shook, but I held my trigger finger as still as I possibly could. Closing my eyes, I turned my head away. _It’s not Frank. It’s not Frank. Help him; he didn’t wanna hurt anyone. It’s not Frank_. I pulled the trigger. It clicked and then shot with a bang louder than I’d ever heard, leaving my ears ringing. I whimpered and dropped the gun. Frank’s arms fell to his sides.

 

Opening my eyes, I took my hand away from his face. His eyes were finally closed. There was blood _everywhere_. Bits of everything had reached the wall at the top of Frank’s bed and the covers and pillows were already soaking, the pool around Frank’s head growing and growing.

“I… Frankie?” Tears blurred my vision yet again. I took hold of his hand. Suddenly he seemed peaceful, finally away from the torture he’d had to endure for two draining months…but my heart still hurt. My heart was then breaking for a different reason. My best friend was dead at my hand and I missed him already. “Fuck, I can’t live with this. Oh, shit, God, help.” I held the gun again. It rattled with how severely my hands were trembling. Pulling at it every which way, I tried finding any part of it that opened. Eventually, a part slid out to reveal one remaining bullet. I looked over to Frank again. “ _Thank you_.” I breathed. As if it would make up for his death, my mixed-up brain told me it was a good idea to grab Frank’s skeleton gloves from the table at his bedside, and slide them onto his already cold hands. They fit looser than they used to. Falling back, I lay next to Frank, not caring about the blood. I felt my throat tightening and I couldn’t talk anymore. It didn’t feel like I needed the gun; it felt like I was suffocating. I cried into his shoulder, throwing my arms around his lifeless bones. “I’ll be with you soon, Frankie.” In a last attempt to bring him back to life, I placed a kiss on his cheek. “…I can’t live without you.”

 

I let myself cry for a second longer before I moved away from Frank and took his gloved hand in mine, my other hand cradling the gun against my chest. Leaving my last words similar to his, I spoke no more. Staring at the ceiling, I brought the gun up under my chin, the same as with Frank before. Squeezing Frank’s hand, though I knew he wasn’t there to return it, I closed my eyes. In my last seconds, I could finally hold the gun steady. I made my last breath a deep one…and with the same click and the same bang, I was gone.


End file.
